self.

duders,
who is your favorite disproportionate poet?
i mean, really, y'all.
you know i doo-doo that long armed lawlessness jauns,
don'tcha?
gangly dangler i most certainly am,
ungainly gracelessness in form and function-
all duckling, no swan;
all goose honk and no nightingale song;
all hawk and no dove,
all crow, no scare...
extenuated extremities, attenuated attentions,
insidiously insinuative sinews, malfeasant marrow,
and great big paddle-type hands and feet.
(keep reading, there's a picture, eventually)
i'm like frankenstein's monster, my ninjas.
assembled in the semblance of man,
but definitely something subtly different.
a mimic, a mockery, a close-but-not-quite
meta-maudlin caterwauling composite creature
born to bring bad news, worse luck, and terrible times.
it seems as if the architects of my secret universal purpose
put me together from spare parts
culled from children's books-
albert the albatross's wingspan,
ichabod crane's physique,
rip van winkle's beard,
wee willie's winkie,
horton's elephantine ears, nose, and faithfulness (100%)
rumplestiltskin's F*ing face, an so on...
you get the idea.
as if some sort of pen and ink shel silverstein nightmare
leapt from page to flesh,
possessing a penchant for alliterative prose and versatile verse,
peppered with punishing puns aplenty...
neighbors,
feel free to jump in and cheer me up at any time.
i'm not fishing for compliments,
i'm chumming the flippin' waters.
awwwwwwwwwww.
self-aware, self-deprecating portraits are what's up.
check the teleport:

ugly on the skin,
pretty from within?
c'mon.
there are ways to break that surface tension;
a shave, haircut, two-bit bits of two-cent opinionated
hemming and hawing and haberdasheried hard-styles-
but,
loud fresh hardness is engraved on my bones,
and written all over my face.
that's deep-etched, ingrained, get-busy business, y'all.
real talk.
i may be broke and busted.
actually, in fact, i am.
i may also be low on the hot-or-not ratings,
and persona non grata at parties across the planet,
but i'm off-the-charts when it comes to the hottness.
yuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuup.
like, when it's time to bring that fire and lightning?
i go to eleven, b!tches.
that's a thing.
you know what i say, you know what i do:
stay ugly, stay dope.
believe it.
***********
friday night is date night?
maybe where you sexy people are...
but not when you're all oyster and no pearl.
(which is just a shiny booger, anyway)
how will i fill the holes in my summer social calendar?
uh-huh.

with sprankles.
simple solutions are sometimes the best ones.
i'm a grown-A* man, y'all,
and i will eat sorbet every flippin' night if i want to.
with neon rainbow sensitivity tubes all over it.
don't be haters,
you guys can have some too.
*
free falling.
like some tom petty sh!t.
it isn't really free, though, is it?
it all costs somethin'.
terminal velocity?
we got that.
it is no longer possible to plummet any faster;
never quiet, never soft.....